Temple of the Dark Moon

oh the eight hours which I’m paid,
I do not know if I’m even qualified,
As an employee for the past 2 weeks,
With only 3 hours for work.

It is a familiar sight for all who pass,
A young boy slumped on his seat,
Holding a red felted pen,
Scribbling a language they cannot understand.

Some rejoice at the freedom of time,
For to be paid with no effort is a dream,
Most would probably kill to have,
Again I find myself in anxiety because of free.

The stone table beating its drums,
The battle for Narnia rings round and round,
Again I find myself with these songs,
Repeating itself to the ending of time.

They ask the question of what I’ve learnt,
The very question that I fear,
Again and again they would ask,
Again and again I would be lost.

The weekend is here marked by four,
An hour long left for our lunch,
Two more hours of capitalist labour,
Again no one with the motivation.

Again many clicked away,
Busy is only for the bees,
Again I complain,
Wait, am I not on of them?

To say I’m busy is a lie,
To say I’m free is a fact,
Who am I to eradicate rats,
When I’m one at heart.

The words of praise so high,
Hollow meaning rings inside,
Again I’m praised that I’m good,
Again my brain was in sleeping mode.

Again is to mean repetition,
Some accept it,
Others fear it,
I resent it.

To again be of no use,
To again possess the freedom of time,
To again be the living dead,
I do not want.

Let the power of four,
Be drained into the darkness,
Let the power of four,
End this Darkest Curse of mine.